Five Times John Tackled Sherlock
by ZannaBQ
Summary: ...  For His Own Good  And One Time Sherlock Tackled John J/S


**Title: **Five Times John Tackled Sherlock (For His Own Good) And One Time Sherlock Tackled John  
**Pairing: **Sherlock/John  
**Raiting: **PG 13  
**Words: **~2200  
**Warnings:** none  
**Spoilers:** none  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Beta:** Laren  
**Summary:** What the title says. Written for a prompt on the Sherlock BBC kink meme.

* * *

**Five Times John ****Tackled Sherlock (For His Own Good) And One Time Sherlock Tackled John**

**5**

The first time it happened was an accident. Well, more precisely, it happened to prevent an accident. John was racing after Sherlock, who was chasing the criminal of the day through the streets, as always not noticing anything else besides his prey. So it wasn't all that surprising he didn't see the bus when he started to cross the street. John, who was only moments behind Sherlock, however _could_ see the bus. And the collision that was about to happen.

He'd seen Sherlock jump over car bonnets more than once – he never stopped when he was hunting someone or something, not even for traffic – but John seriously doubted Sherlock's encounter with a bus would proceed just as painless. So he did the only thing he could do – he sped up, tackled Sherlock and pushed him out of the way of the oncoming bus.

They landed with on the pavement, John on top of Sherlock. For a second neither of them moved, then Sherlock threw John off and stood up with a huff. He didn't say anything, just scowled at John – he was probably annoyed he had to stop in his hunt, even if it was for something important like having his life saved – and then took off after the criminal again.

John sighed, then he got up as well and followed Sherlock. After all, who knew what could happen if he weren't there to rescue Sherlock. He really didn't know how Sherlock had survived until now – he could truly understand why Mycroft worried about Sherlock constantly. Sherlock's instinct of self preservation was underdeveloped, if existing at all. If no one looked out for him it would get him killed one day.

But thankfully he had John now to do just that for him. Flatmate, skull-replacement and full-time nanny – yes, that seemed to be his new job-descriptions. Oh well, John didn't really mind, even if Sherlock would certainly never thank him. John would do it again – after all, it was for Sherlock's own good.

**4**

"Where do you think you are going?"

Sherlock, who'd been trying to sneak out of the waiting room while John had been busy at the front desk, stopped and turned around. He cast John an almost sheepish look.

"There's been a call –"

"No," John interrupted.

"But Lestrade –"

"No," John repeated in a firm voice. "I don't care if there's been a triple-murder in a closed room with a time-lock that can only be opened once every ten years and only from the inside as well, you are not leaving. It took me forever to make this appointment, and I can't endure even one more day of you whining about your tooth, so go back in there again and wait until the dentist has time for you!" John pointed back at the waiting room.

"My tooth is fine," Sherlock declared, and he even almost managed not to grimace with pain. "I don't have time for this now, and you are not my keeper, so I'm out of here." Sherlock nodded once, as if to affirm his statement, then he turned around again and started to walk to the door.

John really didn't have another choice – he tackled Sherlock and pinned him against the wall of the dentist's office.

"What the – John, let go of me!" Sherlock struggled and tried to get free, but John hadn't been in the military for nothing.

"Oh no, you are not leaving," John grunted while trying to hold Sherlock down. "You are going back into the waiting room, and when it's your turn you are going to sit down in the dentist's chair and let your tooth getting fixed, even if I have to sit on you the whole time. Is that clear?"

Sherlock, who'd stopped struggling half throughout John's speech, scowled at him again, but he nodded. John looked at him for a moment searchingly, then he slowly let go of the taller man. Sherlock huffed, straightened his clothes and marched demonstratively back into the waiting room.

John followed him and sat down in one of the chairs by the door – no need to take the unnecessary risk of Sherlock trying to run away again. John started to skim through one of the magazines while Sherlock just stared at the floor.

"Oh stop sulking," John finally said when he couldn't stand the silent treatment anymore. "It's for your own good!"

**3**

John didn't know what Sherlock had done this time to aggravate Molly – and frankly, he really didn't _want_ to – but whatever it was, it must have been even worse than the time he told her that her new boyfriend was gay (not to mention the part about him also being a psychopathic criminal mastermind).

"That was really unnecessary," Sherlock's voice sounded from under John, where he was lying on the floor, looking slightly annoyed.

John disagreed. It had been necessary, badly necessary as attested by the still vibrating scalpel sticking out of one of the shelves right where Sherlock's head had been only moments before. It had been a really happy coincidence that John had decided to visit Sherlock in the morgue today. Molly was too nice a person to get stuck with a murder charge just because Sherlock had been his usual tactless self.

"Shut up," John answered when his heart finally stopped beating so fast. It had been a close call this time; Molly had one hell of a sharp aim. "It was for your own good," he informed Sherlock and pointed up to the scalpel.

**2**

"Johnny-boy!"

John cringed. Oh no. Not her. Not Aunt Mildred.

He hadn't been to one of the Watson Family Christmas Parties in years (not a coincidence, far from it), and he hadn't planned to attend it this year as well. He really didn't like his extended family, the food was horrible, there was _never_ enough alcohol, and, of course, there was Aunt Mildred.

John looked around the room frantically, searching for an emergency exit of some sorts, but before he could make a run for it, a deep voice murmured amused into his ear, "Johnny-boy?"

John looked up at Sherlock, the very reason he was attending this dreadful party. Sherlock had been invited to spend his Christmas with Mycroft – as every year apparently – but this year he'd found a way to wiggle his way out of it. He'd told his brother he would spend Christmas with John at his family's Christmas Party, and that was it. He'd accepted the invitation to the Watson's Family Christmas Party on John's behalf without telling him about it beforehand – because otherwise Mycroft would find out it had been a ruse – and then forced John to actually go there.

And now they were standing here, with his Aunt Mildred on the prowl and approaching fast; and no way out.

"Johnny, I haven't seen you in _ages_, where have you _been_?" Aunt Mildred called and enveloped John in a suffocating hug.

John squeaked and tried to free himself, but apparently his combat instructors in the military had never met his aunt, or they would have prepared him for this. Finally, when John had almost resigned himself to being asphyxiated, Aunt Mildred let go of him again.

"Oh, but _look_ at you!" she exclaimed and pinched him into his cheek. "You've grown _so much_ since I last saw you!"

A choked snort to his right reminded John of Sherlock – who had watched the whole scene with evident glee. It also diverted Aunt Mildred's attention away from John – which was good, very good – towards Sherlock – which wasn't so good, not at all. Aunt Mildred was bad enough regarding family, but a single, unattached man, that was something else altogether. Especially a good-looking man like Sherlock. Aunt Mildred had always had a thing for young, dark-haired tall men.

And right on command Aunt Mildred's eyes lightened up the moment she noticed Sherlock. "Oooooh," she cooed, eyeing Sherlock hungrily, "who is that?"

John suppressed a sigh. This was going to get ugly. Sherlock didn't like being touched by strangers, and his aunt really, _really_ liked to touch strange young men. It was an explosion waiting to happen.

John sighed again, this time out loud. He should just turn tail and run. He should just abandon Sherlock to his fate; after all, it was his fault they were here in the first place. He kind of deserved it. But for some strange reason John really didn't like the idea of his aunt touching Sherlock. It felt just wrong.

And so he did what he always did – he jumped up to Sherlock and wound his arms around his friend's waist. "Aunt Mildred!" he exclaimed, false smile stretched from ear to ear. "May I introduce my partner to you? This is Sherlock; Sherlock, this is my Aunt Mildred."

His aunt visibly deflated, but recollected herself quite fast. "So this is the young man you're living with," she smiled at them approvingly. "Harry mentioned it already. Good catch, Johnny-boy, good catch."

John nodded, smile still fixed on his face. He should have known that Harry couldn't keep her mouth shut. Oh well, there were worse fates than being regarded as Sherlock's boyfriend.

Surprisingly enough Sherlock had neither contradicted John's sudden proclamation of their supposed relationship, nor tensed up when John had attached himself to Sherlock with a death-grip. All he did was rise one eyebrow when John finally looked up at him.

"Just play along," John hissed, still smiling in his aunt's direction. Sherlock's other eyebrow joined the first one. "Believe me," John assured him, "it's for your own good."

**1**

John had really thought Mycroft to be smarter than visit Sherlock without John being present. Previous visits from the older Holmes had proven to go smoother and less verbally abusing whenever John was there as well – mostly because both Mycroft and Sherlock used John as some kind of mouthpiece so that they wouldn't need to talk directly to each other.

John usually didn't mind. It was way better than coming home and finding one's flatmate and friend slowly inching towards the kitchen while speculatively eyeing the knife block.

This wouldn't do. Sherlock might call Mycroft his arch-enemy, but surely he would regret killing him later on, wouldn't he? _Better safe than sorry_, John thought and tackled Sherlock to the floor.

"Maybe I should come back later," Mycroft announced after a moment of smilingly examining John and Sherlock lying on top of each other on the floor, amusement clearly audible in his voice. "When I'm not... interrupting anything."

"Yes," John agreed, a little bit surprised that Sherlock didn't struggle or otherwise try to free himself. He just lay there, under John, with a smug look on his face, the same look he always got when one of his harebrained schemes worked as planned. John was confused.

"Let me guess," Sherlock finally said, now also _sounding_ smug. "It was for my own good, wasn't it?"

John nodded, slightly dazed. After all, he wouldn't just jump his best friend for no reason at all, would he?

**+1**

John slowly climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. He'd had a long and exhausting day at the surgery – one of those days one wished to never have left the bed in the morning. He just wanted to go up to his room, hide under his blanket and forget this day ever happened. He hadn't even looked into the living room to see if Sherlock was there – he just wasn't up to a confrontation with his perplexing friend today, especially not with dealing with all the feelings Sherlock provoked in him as of late.

So when he entered his room he wasn't even the slightest bit prepared to being tackled as soon as he crossed the threshold. With a squeak that John would deny until the end of his days he landed on his bed, with someone right on top of him.

After a bit of struggling John finally recognised who exactly it was. He'd been in this kind of situation quite often lately, even if their positions usually had been reversed; but nevertheless he knew every line and angle of the body on top of his.

"Sherlock?" he finally asked, after Sherlock didn't make any attempts to move off of him.

"Hm?" Sherlock answered, staring at John with the kind of concentration he usually only reserved for crime-scenes. His face was only inches away from John's; they were almost touching. It made John breathless and feeling tingly all over.

"Uhm... what are you doing?"

Sherlock's mouth slowly turned up at the corners. "Take a guess," he said.

John swallowed. If it had been anyone else he would think it was a come-on, even if a completely weird one. But this was Sherlock after all. Surely Sherlock wouldn't... No, he was just projecting his own secret desires. Sherlock was probably just testing something case-related, to prove or disprove an alibi or something like that. Nothing more. He was certainly not trying to seduce John, even if he was almost close enough to kiss.

"I'm just following your example," Sherlock continued and interrupted John's thoughts before he could talk himself into a panic-attack. "But don't worry," his smile turned predatory while closing the last distance to John's lips, "it's for your own good."

The End


End file.
